The L Code
by Miharu is Haruka's Love Child
Summary: "They will never love you." Watari reasoned, biting back the sinking feeling in his gut. He barely heard L whisper back, "I don't need their love. They will be in constant fear of abandonment. I want their loyalty. Unconditionally." ALL CHARACTERS. CANON.


The L Code

Genre: angst, drama, crime, supernatural

Summary: "They will never love you." Watari reasoned, biting back the sinking feeling in his gut. He barely heard L whisper back, "I don't need their love. They will be in constant fear of abandonment. I want their loyalty. Unconditionally." All Characters. Canon. BIRTHDAY PRESENT FOR DLVVANZOR

Rating: M for heavy language, sequences of violence, and some disturbing material in later chapters.

**A/N**_: This fic is a birthday present to my dear friend, Dlvvanzor._

_I love you. So, so much._

_The timeline built between_Another Note_and the DN manga is a bit screwy, but I'm gonna try my best. More or less this is a canon fic that spans from the creation of Wammy's House until a bit after Light's death._It's inclusive of the Detective Wars with Deneuve and Eraldo Coil, the LABB murder arc, and the Kira case_._

_**Disclaimer**__: I own nada. The descriptions, laws, clothes, politicians, customs, and country information, ect…for_ALL_real places mentioned are only partially accurate, and have been modified or fabricated where convenient/necessary. But so is canon, so *shrugs*._

* * *

The world knew of L, knew of his intelligence and unrivaled skill as a detective, but the man himself was a mystery. He never showed a face to associate with the name. No one knew how to contact him or even verify his existence. As far as anyone could tell, L worked alone and his assistant, Watari, was the closest link to the human enigma. Some governments wondered if he was a person at all, or really just some form of artificial intelligence who liked to enforce order on a burning world. The few who knew L Lawliet, knew him as an eccentric man of simple taste and extravagant exploits, but mostly, they knew L as an introverted fidgety child with unconstrained curiosity.

Outwardly, L symbolized hope and security for the plebeians, but like all heroes, L was flawed. Beneath the mask of justice, the boy's selfish drive for perfection ruined as many lives as the ones he saved in his efforts to indemnify himself. And with such a weighty title came many challenges to his position. Throughout his lifetime, the name of L changed several hands but was always reclaimed by its rightful owner. For the name of _L_ superseded the corporeal binds of a single man and extended into the ethereal destinies of all who dared wear it.

* * *

L was fourteen the first time the United Arab Emirates began their public broadcasts, begging him to help find their missing delegates throughout the international embassies. Month after month, government officials inexplicably disappeared and the Islamic nations were at a loss to reclaiming their ambassadors. The UAE's plea remained unanswered until they threatened to withhold exporting oil and the United Nations stepped in, offering L a sum of money that procured the young genius' interest. It took only 12 days for the kidnapping ring to surrender. The ringleader, Mahtabji Khanzan, took a bullet to his brain as the police barricaded the entrances to his home. In the other rooms of the house, a holocaust of bodies lay decimated in a gruesome heap of flesh.

The diplomats, long slain, were found dismembered in the basement. The only body unaccounted for was the child of Abu Dhabi's Prime Minister. Even if the child was alive, there was no way of knowing the last time the eight-year-old had eaten or drank. Yet, the investigators couldn't find a trace of the girl and L quickly tired of their incompetence. He was convinced that the basement hadn't been searched properly. Through a small camera transmission, L was allowed to see the internal space of the house.

"We have checked every inch of this place. There is nowhere someone could hide."

His voice came through to the police in a scramble, "Tap the walls. The child is in the room."

Tentatively, the police did as advised. There were no windows, no hidden floorboards, and definitely no signs of any little girl. L insisted they make noise against the walls, however, and to the shock of the investigators, a small tapping was returned.

"Holy shit!"

The lead investigator hammered at the same spot in the wallpaper and it eventually gave way.

"There was a door there once," remarked L as the team began to pound through a thin layer of drywall that had been hastily wallpapered to camouflage the cavity it contained.

When they broke through, Anusha Lhaxmanan crawled out of the space and stared blankly at the men who would be her rescuers. Then she collapsed from oxygen deprivation as her airspace had long since become contaminated from a carbon monoxide leak.

Normally, L would have objected to a stranger riding in the jet with them, but as Watari had pointed out, there was no other way to airlift the child to the capitol's only hospital. That's how L found himself sitting in the cockpit monitoring an eight-year-olds oxygen levels so Watari could pilot the plane without distractions.

* * *

There was no reason, in Watari's opinion, for L to hack into the security tapes and monitor the girl once she was in the care of nurses and doctors. L wasn't one to exactly _follow_rules, however, and spied on her anyways. Whenever questioned he simply supplied the answer 'case-related' and pushed the old man away.

On the third night of watching her in her sleep, L's efforts were rewarded. Even in the half-light of the hospital room, her silhouette was clear on the monitor in front of him. Her body rose and she sat awkwardly a moment before ripping the drip tubes from her arms and shuffling barefoot across the room, groping at the tables and walls. A thin line of blood ran the length of her palm where a few drops fell to the linoleum floor. The girl stared at the drops a moment before she began rummaging around again blindly for her clothes that lay folded in a corner. Slowly, she pulled a small dark object from them and crawled towards the wall farthest from the door. And she began to write.

Charcoal. She'd concealed a bit of charcoal in her clothes and somehow it hadn't fallen off when the nurses changed her into a hospital gown. L watched as she dirtied the wall with strokes. For nearly an hour she worked, filling the wall as an invisible force guided the masterpiece. When the final stroke ended, her hand lay limp at her side, no longer possessed with the urgency that fueled such a creation. L simply was enraptured.

When Watari walked in to check on his charge, he found the boy staring at the monitor, lost utterly in thought. The old man peered closer to the screen to see the little girl kneeling on the floor. His eyes widened—the hospital gown was small and didn't nearly cover her naked backside, of which the camera had full view.

"L, this is wrong! That child is nearly naked and you are spying on her. Shut the cameras off immediately."

The teenager ignored his mentor's protest as he pointed to the markings on the wall.

"Don't be foolishly distracted, Watari. Look beyond the girl to the wall in front of her. She has spent the last hour writing this formula. Can you not see what it is?"

Quillish Wammy felt dirty and guilty for following L's orders, but he looked as directed. He forced his eyes away from the body on the screen and focused on the numbers and symbols she'd written. It wasn't long before he was gawking at them just as much as L.

He babbled in feverish excitement, "They are plans for a nuclear bomb! But you say that she wrote this? How can that be? This child designed these plans?"

"No…she memorized them. Fascinating."

"But…what does this mean?" Watari turned to face L.

"It means," the detective put his thumb to his lip, "that this case has just gotten interesting."

L slid his forefinger and thumb over the edge of a manila folder that had been lying on the table next to him. He pulled the file open and picked up a sheet for Watari to read. The paper was rather bare; it was the information the police had given on Anusha Lhaxmanan .

Watari scanned the page and mumbled, "She's eight years old, was homeschooled, and has had her appendix taken out. Unless there's something cryptic in her dental records, there's nothing interesting or important about the child."

"Precisely. Watari, tell me why this girl isn't dead." L shifted his knees a bit to peer at the older man.

"We found where they had her hidden and rescued her."

"But why was she hidden at all, when the important hostages were killed? By all logical accounts, this child should never have been captured in the first place. She was not used as ransom and does not have any political importance. The only conclusion can be that she went willingly with her captors, or more likely, she _and_ her parents. The kidnappings were just a cover for smuggling these plans through. They were making use of this child's photographic memory, yet it is curious what they must have done to her. She is writing them in her sleep, and no doubt, will not remember a single equation the moment she is awake."

"…L?" It wasn't necessary for L to finish his thoughts, but the inventor wanted the boy's conclusion, regardless.

"There is an 8% chance that one or more of the police involved with this investigation is also linked to the crime syndicate that organized the whole affair." L hesitated before continuing, "Get the child out of that hospital room and have the surface of every wall cleaned and repainted. If my theory is correct, then the interior of the room she was kept in will have the same markings on the walls."

The old man watched the boy's eyes as he explained further details on his theories and findings. Quillish never voiced his sentiments, but he cherished these moments; there was something utterly invigorating about watching L's mind click away at the puzzles and mysteries in every case. He couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his wizened face as he walked out of the room. He was proud of L and all his accomplishments. The man's only regret was the incalculable amount of time he had left with the boy. It was hard to deny it: Quillish Wammy was getting old. Sooner than comfort's call, he would die and cease to be a benefactor in that magic that was L's world of justice.

Watari looked one more time at his charge before leaving to contact the United Nations.

* * *

Sometimes, L could have the most whimsical inspirations, and Watari would have to put his foot down firmly. The boy would badger him endlessly, and on more than one occasion, nearly blackmail the inventor. Sometimes they could find a compromise, but certain requests were just beyond unreasonable..like when L suddenly proposed they kidnap the Sudhalaxmi girl and bring her with them to England.

"Completely out of the question!"

"I do not see a problem with it."

"L we cannot just steal a ward of the state. That's not legal."

L looked up from his strawberry shortcake, his expression blank, "That was not a request, Watari. You have money. Make it happen. You've done it before, haven't you?"

"Well yes, but your case was diff—"

"When I was four years old, you found cause to smuggle me out of that clinic in Cambodia, didn't you?"

"Yes," the man gave in. There was no changing the boy's mind once it was made up.

"Then I want to see that girl on the plane when we return to Winchester."

The boy slammed a cup from his silver tea service and there was no more discussion on the matter. The old man regarded his charge with interest. L's habits had become increasingly worrisome. He was entering that awkward teenage stage where his paranoia was slightly magnified. He would booby trap his room to check for intruders. He had turned down several cases in favor of profiling himself and had ordered an absurd amount of book resources on death and the afterlife. Death was becoming something of an obsession with him lately, if his new choices in literature were any indication. Watari wasn't worried, but he was beginning to wonder if the boy didn't need more human contact for his sanity.

"If you feel lonely L, I could get you a puppy."

The boy brushed him off easily, "I have been thinking about conducting a little experiment."

When there was no answer, he continued, "Wouldn't it be interesting if there could be two of me? I have been thinking about what it would be like to train someone to work with me, or to work like me. There may come a time when I get bored with this detective work and the world will fall into chaos without L. Of course, there is also the question of when my condition will finally kill me. If I were to die suddenly, that might be problematic."

L's words slammed into the old man. It had been years…_years_since they'd spoken about L's illness. Even longer perhaps, since he'd thought about the state the boy had been in when they'd met. L still sat in that crunched up way because of the things that…_that woman_had done to him.

"When you are finished condemning my mother, yet again, for being a drug-addicted prostitute, would you please get me another slice of cake?"

L was never one for subtlety and mindreading was one of his specialties in analyzing the people around him. Quillish _was_his favorite subject, after all. The man decided to play along, if just to get more answers from the teenager.

"Where does An..uh…Aunu…how do you say her name?"

After repeating the name several times, L gave up on Watari's pronunciation lessons, "Just call her 'A' for simplicity. I cannot be bothered with you fumbling on something as insignificant as her name."

Of course! _L_ wouldn't consider it degradation to strip someone's identity down to a simple letter. "Right. A. What exactly do you want with her? She isn't a pet, you know."

L raised a single cube from the sugar bowl and glared at it before dropping it on the table and dumping the whole contents of the bowl into his teacup. He didn't bother with the spoon as the liquid was too saturated to truly mix with the sugar. Two slurps and the cup was empty.

When he finally peered up at the elderly man, the shadows under his eyes were the darkest they'd looked in days, "We will make a house for them. An…orphanage of sorts."

Watari began choking on air, "_Them_?" he coughed in shock. "What do you mean by '_them'_?"

"You do not expect me to put all my faith on merely one child, do you? You are an inventor, Quillish Wammy. You of anyone should understand why I'd need several children."

Madness. L was speaking utter madness…and yet the old man hung on every word.

"What sort of orphanage did you have in mind?" Watari could hardly believe that he was egging the boy's fantasy like that when every reasonable cell in his brain screamed at him to slap Lawliet across the jaw.

"A place for true geniuses to run wild and rampant. We will recreate the conditions under which I found my…affinity for solving cases, and let them compete against one another. We will cultivate their individual talents and unleash them on each other. No rules, just raw ingenuity and cutthroat determination to succeed. A game of sorts, but with the ultimate goal of becoming…me. Their greatest desire should always be to take the name of L."

It was inconceivably racy and morally wrong on multiple levels, but so utterly within their capabilities. There _had_to be others…children abandoned to harsh reality who, given the proper resources, could use their incredible gifts for the sake of justice…perhaps some could even _surpass_ L. For the briefest moment, the utopia flashed in Wammy's imagination, until a single glance at his charge brought reality back full force. There was always the inevitable downside of such an existence and none was the greater example than L himself.

"They will never love you." Watari reasoned, biting back the sinking feeling in his gut. He barely heard L whisper back, "I don't need their love. They will be in constant fear of abandonment. I want their loyalty. Unconditionally."

The boy's words were cold like the steel barrel of a gun. The old man stared at the hunched form, knees drawn up in a fetal position with bare toes scrunched against the chair cushion. L was not a child anymore, the way his back arched and his lanky arms hung on his frame, ending in sallow cheeks and untamable raven hair. For fourteen, the boy's eyes held as much aging and understanding of the world as any man who stood on death's door. But one blink, and the child was there again, sparkling in the innocence of L's smile. The old man felt a stab in his chest…

He knew he was being manipulated, but there was no backing out. Lawliet had set the challenge, and Wammy would meet it. Ignoring his inner guilt, Watari exited the room and made preparations to smuggle himself, L, and A out of the country. L's orphanage would be built and a successor would be made. They would do it because they were L and Watari, and in the corruption of the world around them, they _created_ the rules and they could damn well break a few.

God help anyone who stood in the way.

* * *

_Aaaand Voila! We have the first chapter of_ The L Code_. I'm ridiculously excited to be writing this story. Hope you are all enjoying reading it._

_Evey one wish Dlv a Happy Birthday, k? Today is not her actual birthday tho._

_And if you have a moment, please review. ^^"_


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